What's in a (Super) Name? (100th Post!)

First things first. Let's throw out some numbers. This, right here, is my 100th blog post. In 10 days, the blog will celebrate its 3rd Anniversary. Tomorrow, G2 (whose birth has thus far been unremarked upon in this space) will be three weeks old. Today also happens to be my middle brother's birthday (this last bit of info will become more relevant in a minute).

Having said all that, what do I want to share in this momentously timed post? I'd like to talk a little bit about names. From the day we learned we were having a boy (for much longer than that, really), Hollie and I spent a lot of time considering boy names. Back in 2010, we were relieved to discover that LG was a girl, because we just couldn't think of any boy names that we liked. Girl names, we had those by the dozen. Our ultimate choice for LG, while wholly satisfying, was one of at least three we could have gone with and been just as happy.

But boys... boys were tough. My one-time top choice, Aiden, had been ruined many years ago by Sex and the City. All other Irish-sounding -an/-en/-in names were out because Hollie didn't care for the way they sound with Griffin. Gavin Griffin, Ioan Griffin, Dylan Griffin, Griffin Griffin? Perhaps too much. (Why do all those Irish names end in 'n's anyway?) Oliver was another contender, but did I like it just because I wanted to name LG Olive at one time?

On top of that, we really wanted to avoid going the overly trendy route. We needed something classic, but not overused. Singular, but not unrecognizable.

(And a middle name? Psshht. The whole process turned my brain to mush. The day before he was born, I became weirdly fixated on Horatio as a middle name. Cooler heads prevailed, and Hollie convinced me I was headed in the wrong direction. She claimed it was because it was "too grand," which I think is code for, "you're insane if you think I'm letting you name our child Horatio." So be sure to thank your mom for that someday, G2.)

Probably three months before G2 was born, miraculously, Hollie came up with a first name so perfect, I can't believe it hadn't occurred to us before. Seriously, it's kind of embarrassing for me.

So G2 is almost three weeks old, and if you're family or friends with me on Facebook, then you already know his name. (And if you don't fall into either of those categories, how did you find my blog? Seriously, I'd like to know.) Per my policy of not using my kids' real names online, I'm not going to use it here.

But I'll give you a hint. It's the guy with the glasses.

If you know me, or have been following along with Solving for G over the last three years, this should shock precisely none of you. But there's another story behind this, something that goes beyond my general predilection for the exploits of 4-color heroes. Or at least explains that these geek roots run deep.

I had turned three years old less than a month before my younger brother was born. That's 30 years ago, today, for those paying attention. I don't remember much about the event. Some foggy images bounce around in my head vying for a claim to reality. For events that long ago, it's hard to know what I remember, and what I remember people telling me over the years.

But here's what happened, so far as I'm aware. My parents didn't know whether my brother was going to be a boy, so they naturally had two names set aside, prepared for either eventuality. I don't recall the girl name, but I'm told the chosen boy name was Justin. A fine name, certainly, and not one my parents had heard very frequently... until they got to the hospital on April 18, 1983*. In the time leading to my brother's birth, my mom (a nurse who knew lots of people in the hospital) discovered that not one, not two, but three other boys who had just been born had been named Justin.**

That might've been okay for some folks, but there was no way my mom was going to have the fourth Justin on the maternity ward that day. As a matter of course, he was born, but he had no name. And a day later, he still had no name. And on day three, awaiting discharge, he still didn't have a name.

Desperate, or perhaps just curious what suggestions their newly minted three year old might have, my parents asked me what we should name him. I didn't hesitate. "Superman." (How's that for grand?)

Needless to say, our parents went in a different direction. But nearly 30 years later, I saw no reason why I shouldn't trust my first instincts on the subject of male names. It just took me a while to remember that.

It should also be noted that G2 weighed 1.5 lbs more than LG at birth, was almost an inch shorter, and yet didn't look fatter. I credit his superhuman (possibly Kryptonian) density. 

* Happy Birthday, brother!
**some details of this story may be wrong. Give me a break. I was three.